


Cottingley Fairies

by Rhidee



Category: HLVRAI - Fandom
Genre: Altered Mental States, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Derealization, Disassociation, Gen, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28983897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhidee/pseuds/Rhidee
Summary: Gordon felt like something was crawling up his sleeve, like something was latching onto his arm and dragging itself, inch by laborious inch, up to his neck and choking him.  He didn’t move.  He looked at the light, and he didn’t even bother to look at his arm.It wasn’t there, after all.
Relationships: None
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Cottingley Fairies

**Author's Note:**

> Please mind the tags! This fic is written in the style of dissociative thinking and is liable to trigger people who are prone to that. Not sayin 'don't ever read my fic' or nothing, but please take the time to set up comfort and support for yourself if you're gonna get risky with it.

The sunlight was heavy through the trees, the shafts of light so sharp that they seemed to have a physical presence. The air smelled earthy, that specific scent that only pops out in the distinct absence of a road, of cars. Gordon felt like something was crawling up his sleeve, like something was latching onto his arm and dragging itself, inch by laborious inch, up to his neck and choking him. He didn’t move. He looked at the light, and he didn’t even bother to look at his arm.

It wasn’t there, after all.

The hallucinations had started…at some point, he’s sure. The delusions probably before that. It was hard to judge. There’s something difficult, about putting a spot on when normal thought shifts into delusion. Delusions feel so solid, so secure. They feel almost too real, like a boat in a storm. Or, no, not even that. Like finding an island entirely, of having everything so full of shifting waves that you stumble on the shore and find everything is so stable you could cry from relief. 

And you are still, incredibly, completely delusional.

Gordon breathed, slowly. Feeling the air fill his lungs. It felt real, but then, everything did, and he wanted to wonder if he was even breathing, or if he had just stopped at some point and was now hallucinating the sensation. He just stopped the train of thought. He didn’t even have the energy to be scared.

The forest was pretty. He was pretty sure everything he saw was real. It looked nice. Gordon focused on that.

It had started small. It hadn’t even started in black mesa- oh no, he couldn’t even claim that. That lovely, beautiful lie, that would gain audience sympathy. Oh, you lost your shits a little because your fought real aliens? Understandable have a nice mental health crisis.

It started in college. He would just…get stressed. He’d get too stressed. He’d get so anxious that he’d start feeling like his brain was wobbling, and then he’d…usually disassociate. Usually just distance himself, derealize. But a few times- a few times he just…said shit. He got paranoid, untrusting. _Delusional_. 

Genetic predisposition, maybe. An overly stressful childhood. Hell, go ahead and toss bad diet and few friends in there too. Maybe it’s because he cheated in second grade math, who knows. What does it matter. Who does it help, to figure it out? He was fucked up in some way that was fully _in his head_ , utterly out of his control. All he could do is avoid high stress situations, try to keep an eye on himself, shell out a few hundred on therapy each month.

It felt inevitable. 

The trees were so green. His house didn’t have a lot of green in it. His walls were that off white beige color that’s unfairly common. Most of his furniture was shades of brown. He had some black stuff, a bit of red, just whatever color. But hardly any green. Maybe one, mismatched towel without its set. Gordon wondered who was going to sort his towels while he was out here. He didn’t know how he got here. He could tell it was a mental thing, some sort of ‘in the moment’ brain thing that meant he could only think about where he was and what stressed him. Focusing in, or whatever. Looking at the world through a pinhole, trying to guess the big picture from the shading at the edges.

Black mesa was bad. Black mesa was so bad. Gordon couldn’t remember what was real about it, anymore. Not right now. Usually he did pretty well for group events. He could ask people what happened, and rarely do people lie about things like that. But nobody was here right now. He knew there were aliens. Because he had to check so many times after, it felt like he might as well have tattoo’d it on his arm. Or…maybe leg would be more secure. He knew he lost his arm- Benrey? Bubby? A bunch of coomer clones? He didn’t really know. It felt like something was crawling on his leg. He does have a leg. He is on the forest floor. Probably real?

Gordon looks down and brushes an ant off his leg. He sees it, he feels it with his hand and leg, and it keeps existing after it hits the ground. He watches it run around agitated, before losing sight of it under some leaves. Was it cold? The leaves were brown. He looked up. There was still a lot of leaves up there. Are they brown? No, they’re green. He was just thinking about that, right?

Gordon stared for a few minutes.

The wind blew.

…

Okay, those are green leaves, and they are not pine. The leaves on the ground are brown. The leaves on the ground fell and are now decomposing?

Gordon poked the leaves. They were flexible, not crunchy. Okay.

Gordon stood up. He was tired of being here.

Breaking things down into steps was helping him, but he felt sick. Like, disgusted sick. Like when you hear about something horrible, sick. He didn’t feel sure of anything right now, which he guessed meant he wasn’t delusional. Or maybe having sensory hallucinations meant you were delusional, even if you knew what they were? Whatever.

People who are in the woods have items. Gear. Gordon checked his pockets, but he didn’t have any. His pants were soft. He had pajama pants on? Yes, these were pajama pants.

Thinking was so exhausting. Gordon wanted to sit back down and cry.

No pockets, no gear, no phone. Where is he? He looks around. He sits back down.

He has forgotten what he was doing. The leaves are so green.

One time in college he had helped a girl find her way home, had asked a trusted friend to give her a ride. He got her number, mostly to make sure she made it home safe. She had texted him unexpectedly a while later. He didn’t remember what happened, but he knew he embarrassed himself badly and probably upset her. He felt disgusting. He took a breath.

Okay, anxiety. What stops anxiety? Breathing helps, looking around helps. Hot girl shit, five things you see four things you hear…etc etc whatever. He can’t do that right now, he had to focus on keeping himself coherent.

Oh god, what if he was drugged? Maybe that’s what was wrong. He got drugged and ran into the woods, the only way he could stay safe is if he found shelter now. Water, you need water, and then you find food next. Gordon stood up, and walked a little forward.

No, that’s dumb. If the US government came after him they’d probably just shoot him, they wouldn’t let him do a jaunty little run into the underbrush. This bark looked so very rough. He touched it. Nice.

The thing is, he trusted Benrey. He trusted Benrey in a nasty sort of way. You kill a guy and he doesn’t destroy you for it, and you know you have the power in the relationship. If Benrey hurt him he could just kill him again. So Benrey probably wouldn’t hurt him. He wished he could feel his emotions correctly right now. He was pretty sure that was fucked up.

He wanted to sit back down again. Everything was so much and also it was nothing. He thought about those little girls who had taken fake fairy photos, who had drawn and carefully taken pictures of those tiny scraps of paper. He felt like he was a guest in that space, like he was standing outside watching them painstakingly draw a fairy, watching them shade the hair so carefully. He wondered how beautiful they must have looked, how much the cameras must have blurred them.

He felt like that, embarrassingly, like some sort of cliché. He felt like he built himself up, meticulously, so carefully. That everything was exactly right, and then when it was time for the photograph it had all slide out of control. Blurry and unreal, curtains rise lights fall.

He realized he had been staring at bark for at least a few minutes, and consciously blinked. 

Oh god. Ohhh jeez. Gordon wasn’t sure he could step out of this one. He needed help, he needed someone, but he wasn’t even sure anyone else existed. Maybe this was just him, in the woods, forever.

Gordon sat down.

He clenched his hand, dug his nails into his palm. He didn’t feel it, but he felt the idea of it. You’re supposed to pinch yourself to check if you’re dreaming, but when your whole body feels like a dream why even bother. The realest feeling he felt was a hand on his arm. Since he didn’t have the other hand, that must be fake too.

He wanted to cry, but he thought if he did he might just become to tired to sniff. Might just sit there with snot dripping everywhere, or just…cease to exist.

**Author's Note:**

> Yo this one's for the folks who deal with this shit and don't ever see it in fic. I'm the folks.
> 
> I vaguely plan on continuing this at some point, but no promises because 1) this is really mentally draining to write, despite being something im happy (and want!) to write about and 2) my glasses broke while writing this, i'm posting this with one lens held up to my face and a busted ass frame, like some sort of gemologist examining a diamond for typos and formatting issues.
> 
> Please comment, and if you don't, it's chill, i hope you have a nice day and remember you deserve love!


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